Trapped in a Moment
by Lexical
Summary: Underwood only had him for an hour- will Reid ever be the same? Warning for NON CON, second chapter in this series.
1. Chapter 1

Trapped in a moment by Lexical

Rating: M

Summary: Reid is taken hostage by an UNSUB an released an hour later. But will he ever be the same?

Warning: This fic contains NON CON (not graphic)- don't read if this will disturb you. It also contains language some readers may find inappropriate.

Author's note: my first fan fic piece ever, please be gentle. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

_____________________________________________________________

Hotch was behind him, gun out, splat jacket on. Reid entered the room. The kid was on the bed, tied down with rope, apparently unconscious. Their UNSUB, Martin Underwood, was standing over the kid with a shotgun pressing against the kid's temple.

"One more step and this kid's brains are all over the wall!"

"It's over, Underwood! Drop your weapon!" That was Hotch.

"You come any closer and this kid is going to have a closed casket funeral! Get the fuck out!"

"Not going to happen. Let the boy go." How Hotch could sound so calm in situations like these always amazed Reid. Which is why he usually let Hotch do the talking. Usually... But Underwood's finger was tightening on the trigger. Reid was in front of Hotch, blocking his shot. He lowered his gun.

"Don't hurt the boy, okay? We can talk about this."

Seeing that Reid had lowered his gun, Underwood swung the shotgun in Reid's direction.

"You. Come here." Reid edged forward slowly, heart beginning to race. Underwood was shouting orders at Hotch, who was yelling back. Everything went too quickly then. There was a shot and Hotch dove for cover.

Reid blinked, the sound of the blast momentarily deafening him. The door was heaved shut by Underwood and locked before Reid could recover. Underwood kept Reid in his sight, and ordered him into the room, away from the door, away from safety.

_____________________________________________________

Aaron Hotchner paced as the police rattled off threats to Underwood over a megaphone. Nothing. Reid had been in there an hour and then… shots. Gunshots. Hotch was up and running, through the door. _Reid!…_

Reid was still holding the shotgun. His face was speckled with blood. Hotch gazed down. Underwood's reign of terror was over. Another agent was barking for an ambulance as Hotch put an arm around Reid's shoulders and steered him outside, away from the carnage, into the sun.

Reid sat under a tree and just stared.

"You had to do it Reid. He would have killed you."

"Yeah." Reid continued to gaze out at the grass, his eyes glassy, the pupils dilated. Hotch watched him for a moment before putting a hand on his arm.

"You're in shock. Come on. Let's get you looked over by a medic-"

"NO!" Reid shouted, eyes going wide. Hotch held up his hands in a soothing gesture, took a step toward the distraught young man. Reid was already calming down. "I mean… no. It's okay. It's just a bruise." He tilted his face so Hotch could see the shiner starting to darken under his eye.

"You sure you're okay?" Hotch asked, brows furrowing. He put a hand on Reid's arm and Reid recoiled. Hotch pulled back and sat near the younger man, just watching.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine. I… I just want to go home."

"Okay. At least let me give you a drive. You can fill out your report tomorrow and…"

Reid was just nodding, but not really listening. Hotch knew that much. "Let's get you home Spencer."

They drove in silence, Reid staring out the passenger seat window, mouth set in a grim line. Hotch pulled into the parking lot, left the engine idling.

"The kid's going to be okay, Reid. You saved his life."

Reid nodded and tried to smile, but he was just going through the motions. That much was clear.

"Come on, Let's get you upstairs." Hotch reached over to open Reid's door, not missing the way Reid shrank back from the movement. Reid offered a small, apologetic smile.

"Just a bit… jumpy. That's all."

"That's understandable. C'mon."

Hotch walked behind Reid, analyzing the younger man. Reid walked stiffly, arms motionless at his side. Head down. They took the elevator up and Hotch's concern turned to worry. Spencer Reid was very pale, and he seemed to be in pain.

Reid unlocked the front door, his body shaking, and walked into his apartment. He surveyed the surroundings as if he had never seen them before, ran a shaking hand over his face. Hotch said something to him, and he missed it.

"Reid?" Hotch edged his voice with steel. He was worried now, really worried. Reid was white now, his face dotted in perspiration.

"Just a headache." Reid mumbled, sitting down on his couch. He winced and shut his eyes at the movement.

"Reid… come on. We're going to the hospital."

"I'm fine, Hotch."

"I'm your superior, I'll make that decision"

Reid was breathing through his mouth, hands laced over his stomach. "I- I just want to lie down for a while, I'll be fine…"

"You can come with me, or I can call for an ambulance." Hotch said simply. He would not debate this any longer.

"I said I was fine!" Reid choked out. Hotch closed his eyes, tried to calm his own growing fear. Reid's eyes were full of tears, his face pale, hands shaking.

"Reid…" Hotch lowered his voice. There was no easy way to ask this. "Reid, did Underwood hurt you?"

Reid stared at Hotch for a moment, blinked. Tried to smile. The smile faltered and Reid took a deep breath. Let it out. Another. His eyes looked wild. Aaron Hotchner knew he was walking on very thin ice.

"Please, I just want to go lie down-" Reid got up with visible effort and started towards his bedroom. Hotch watched him, brows furrowing. He glanced down at the sofa, where Reid had been sitting and touched the dark material. His fingers came back sticky. Red.

"Reid!" His own heart was beating rapidly now. Now was not the time to break down. He was at Reid instantly, hands strong on his shoulder. Reid let out a small, strangled scream and tried to pull away. Hotch held him, not letting the younger man wriggle away.

"Please, Hotch. Please, don't make me."

Aaron Hotchner had never felt as much empathy for Spencer Reid as he did in that moment, but he also knew Reid would endanger himself to keep this secret.

"I'll go with you. You won't be alone."

"Please, Hotch. _Please_." Reid was crying now, softly, head tucked down in shame. Hotch sighed but didn't let the younger man go. Reid was shaking, eyes wild and crazed like a caught animal, breathing fast and shallow. Panicking.

"Come on, Reid. Come on." He half expected Reid to fight, but instead the younger man sagged against the wall. He slid rather gracefully to the ground and hid his head in his hands. Hotch knew the younger man was trying to control himself, was trying not to cry. Sob. His breathing sounded strangled and tight, on the verge of breaking.

"Spencer… come on." He knelt down in front of his agent, tried to see his face. Reid finally looked at him, his eyes heavy lidded, his face whiter than fear alone.

"Reid? Spencer? Come on, talk to me." Reid was struggling to keep his eyes open, his breathing fast and shallow.

"I don't feel that well." Reid slurred, eyes fluttering shut. Hotch picked up his wrist, felt for a pulse. Fast, thready. Not good. Neither, of course, was the red staining the carpet on which Reid sat, semi-conscious. Aaron Hotchner pulled out his cell and dialed for an ambulance.

_________________________________________________

Reid roused slightly when the paramedics arrived, eyes flickering open, widening with fear. Hotch stayed close to the younger agent, held his hand as he was lifted onto the gurney and an IV was started. Paramedics were asking him questions he didn't want to answer so he simply shut his eyes and tuned them out, but he could hear Hotch speaking in low, clipped tones, informing the medics that he would be riding with Dr. Reid. His tone of voice was steely and Reid knew they wouldn't argue. Not with Hotch. If he wasn't so scared and ashamed, he might have smiled.

The drive was fast and they didn't blast the sirens. Reid could hear Hotch on his cell, phoning the other agents, and the sense of shame began to grow. He didn't want anyone to know. No one. Too late for that

He felt his gurney being lifted and left his eyes closed. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want people looking at him, seeing him, touching him. The gurney was stabilized on the ground and wheeled into the emergency room, down what felt like a hall, into an exam room. Reid kept his eyes tightly closed. It was magical thinking, he reflected sullenly- hoping that if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him. Still, it felt right. So he did it.

He felt himself being lifted onto a bed, and people were shouting. He felt a hand wrap around his free hand- the other one had an IV in it- and creaked his eyes open. Hotch.

Doctors and medical professionals were calling back and forth, saying his name, saying the names of horrible things. Embarassing and shameful things. Spencer Reid had never felt so dirty and used in his entire life as he did at that moment. Despite his pain, Reid felt his cheeks turn hot. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking out angry, hot tears. Hotch's grip got stronger.

He almost came right off the bed when the first set of hands touched him. Hotch was right by him, saying he'd be all right. Saying it would be over soon. It hurt and fingers… he screamed. He felt his awareness dimming, everything turning black. He gave into it, wishing that he would never have to awaken. Never have to see the look of pity in Hotch's eyes that he knew would be there.

He thought he was unconscious, but he could still feel hands on him, talking. Someone said "Let's turn him." And Reid tried to talk. "No. Please. Don't." But he was only semi-conscious and the hands were stronger. He felt his pants being cut off, hands on his legs. He tried to kick, fear and shame and a sense of being in a dream stronger than the realization that he was in a hospital, that this was supposed to be helpful.

"Reid, calm down." Hotch again, his voice sounding tight, clipped. Aaron Hotchner rarely sounded upset, even when he was. Now, right now, even only half-aware, Reid knew he was upset.

"Please don't let them touch me, Hotch. Please."

"It'll be okay, Reid. Can you feel my hand?"

Reid slit his eyes open. Hotch's face was right there, staring at him. Reid nodded.

Hotch smiled gently. "Okay. You just focus on that, okay? Just talk to me."

Hands. Fingers. He felt something cold push into him and he screamed and jerked. The doctors were talking fast- bleeding. Severe bleeding. Someone yelled something, but Reid couldn't make it out. He was so tired.

"Reid. Come on, Spencer, keep talking to me." Hotch's voice was soft, softer than he'd ever heard it.

He was turned over, more hands. Someone said the words "rape kit". Reid squeezed his eyes shut. It was suddenly hard to breathe. The air felt oxygenless. His hands felt numb, far away. Reid didn't see the syringe that was suddenly plunged into his IV line, didn't know he was being sedated. Hotch's face went blurry. Hotch was saying something, but Reid couldn't hear anymore, and then everything went gray.

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Reid woke up in pain. He was lying in a hospital bed. An oximeter was attached to one of his fingers, recording his pulse and oxygen level. He groaned and opened his eyes. Morgan was sitting in a chair near his bed, reading a magazine. Morgan turned the magazine upside down and frowned. Reid groaned and Morgan straightened up, put the magazine down.

"Reid! How you doing man?"

Reid smacked his lips, tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. Morgan grabbed the water pitcher and a glass and filled it, handed it to Reid. Reid nodded and acknowledgement and drank the water. Morgan was watching him, eyebrows knitted in concern.

"You gave us a scare, Reid."

Reid tried to think. Had he been shot? What? Oh. Oh… fuck.

"Does everybody know?" His voice was soft, almost inaudible. Morgan nodded, expression pinched.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Reid. You were injured in duty. That's all. That's all anybody thinks of it."

"If that were true," Reid's voice was high, pinched "You wouldn't have had to say that."

Morgan shifted uncomfortably, finally nodded. Reid glanced around the room, saw Hotch in the hall, watching him. Reid closed his eyes and exhaled, knew Hotch would come in now that he was awake. He heard the door click open, heard Morgan greet the senior agent.

"Can I have a moment?" Hotch said. Reid assumed Morgan consented because the door clicked shut.

He kept his eyes closed. He couldn't do this. He could hear Hotch pull a chair out, sit down.

"Reid, I know you're awake." Hotch sounded… like Hotch. There was no pity in his voice, no smothering worry. Reid opened his eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You could have bled to death, Spencer." Hotch said sharply, eyes never leaving Reid's. Reid finally looked away. What could he say to that?

"Does everyone know?" He already knew the answer.

"They know you were hurt attempting to save that kid's life."

"You didn't have to tell them." Reid breathed, miserable. He was close to tears. No… he would not cry. He wouldn't. Hotch just stared at him, expression unreadable.

"When can I go home?" Reid said after a moment. Somehow, the silence was worse. It irked and niggled at him.

"They want to keep you overnight for observation." Hotch said simply. Reid nodded, thought about that. Lying in this bed like an invalid, being watched, those looks of pity. He wanted to get up, shower, have half a dozen coffees and lock himself in his apartment with a pile of books.

"I feel okay. I want to go home."

"You just had surgery. That's not going to happen."

Surgery? Reid stared at Hotch. He wasn't bluffing. He thought about what had happened, his behavior. What would it be like when he went back to the BAU? How would they treat him?

"So. What's going to happen now?" Flat voice. Analytical Reid now.

Two could play that game. "What do you think is going to happen, Spencer?"

"I don't know. I don't want to talk to anyone, Hotch."

Hotch didn't say anything to that, just looked at Reid. Watched him. Analyzing, thinking. Profiling.

"You'll come back to work," Hotch stated simply, in the same clinical tone he used whenever he was dealing with something unpleasant but not immediately overwhelmed. "You'll do your job. You'll recover."

Reid nodded at this. It was good Hotch was speaking like that, it made it easier. Reid didn't think he could stand overt compassion right now. Reid let his eyes drift closed again. He heard Hotch shift in his chair.

"I'm glad you're okay, Reid." Hotch said after a moment. "And if you ever endanger your life like that again, I'll personally see to it that you spend the rest of your career doing desk work."

Reid looked at Hotch, stunned. Hotch was serious. His eyes were concerned, but also angry.

"I…how could I tell you?" Hotch watched the younger man intently. Tried to imagine the degree of shame that would compel Reid to hide life threatening injuries.

He couldn't.

Reid was looking at the ceiling, at the window, anywhere but Hotch's face. Hotch sighed, moved to get up. He was at the door when Reid spoke again.

"Psych Eval?" Reid asked simply, sounding defeated.

"Get some sleep, Reid." Hotch replied softly. He stepped out before Reid could object.

"He okay?" Morgan said, walking up to Hotch, sipping instant coffee.

Hotch stared at Morgan, expression steely. It was enough of an answer.

______________________________________________

Reid woke up with a start, heart racing.

"Reid!"

He lay back, trying to breathe. It was hard to breathe. Everything hurt.

"Hey, Reid…" It was Garcia. Reid glanced at his arm out of habit, but his watch was removed. The lights were dimmed.

"What are you doing here?" Reid snapped, embarrassed. Garcia ignored the tone of voice, handed him a coffee. Reid took it gratefully.

"It's cold, but black. Lots of sugar."

"Thanks." He took a sip, then another. Coffee had never tasted so good.

"How you doing, Partner?" Garcia said softly, moving her chair closer to Reid's bed.

"Fine. Thanks for the coffee."

"We all were really worried about you." Garcia said, voice cracking.

"What time is it?" Reid said in response, avoiding Garcia's gaze.

"After two. You were out like a light." Reid didn't like this. His hands were shaking, and he had the urge to get up, move, just move.

He sat up, glad to see the IV had been removed. "I want to go home."

"Um, Reid… I think you have to stay the night… hey!"

Reid was out of bed, swaying slightly. Wincing.

"Reid, I think you should get back in bed."

It was hard to breathe. The room was too small. He had to get away.

"Or not." Garcia amended, watching her colleague. Her friend. His face was pale, his hands shaking. She knew what this was, knew what a developing panic attack looked like.

"Reid, get back in bed." The door had opened. Hotch. Hotch was there, and Reid gasped. The air was too stale, not enough oxygen. Hotch crossed over to the younger man, put a hand on Reid's arm. Reid jerked away.

"I don't want to get back in bed!" He was breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of anxiety. He felt like he was dying. He had to get away.

"Reid, calm down." How could Hotch sound like that? So… so incredibly calm, so stable. Reid jerked away from Hotch, stumbled toward the door. Garcia glanced at Hotchner, uneasy. He shook his head, followed Reid out into the hall.

Reid stumbled along, wheezing. A nurse walked by, glanced at Hotch. Hotch shook his head. Don't interfere.

"Reid, come on, let's go sit down."

"I don't want to sit down!"

He didn't want to hear Hotch, didn't want to deal with this. Couldn't deal with this. He wanted to go home, get a shower. Maybe get drunk. Yes, that sounded good. But move... he had to move. Couldn't stop now, not with the adrenaline pumping through him, not with the fear so huge and overpowering.

Reid began to walk faster, ghosted by Hotch, by Garcia. The hall looked funny, strange, distorted.

"Where are my clothes?" Reid shouted at no one in particular.

Doctors were coming now. Reid turned back, breathing fast. Wheezing. Then he was running, running. Someone shouted behind him. He ignored it, kept running, bare feet slapping against linoleum. A security guard was walking down the hall from the opposite direction, Hotch and Garcia and a doctor behind him. Trapped. Trapped.

A bathroom. He saw the sign, pushed the door open, ducked in. There was no lock on the door, nothing. Reid stumbled into a stall, closed it, pushed the lock down. The door burst open.

"Reid." It was Hotchner, but there were other people. Reid could hear them, breathing, behind the other side of the door. Ready. Ready to pounce on him. Get him.

Reid edged back into the stall, back against the wall.

"Reid, come out." Hotch, voice calm and sure, like it always was. Like he always was- so calm, so self assured. Reid shut his eyes angrily, suddenly furious. Furious at this situation, at the flimsy hospital gown, the way his IV line left bruising on his skinny arm. He had to calm down. Had to think. There were too many people, too many people, all crowding him.

There were too many people in here. He could hear them, breathing. He wanted them to go away, leave him alone. They were smothering him. He couldn't breathe.

"Reid, come out." Hotch said again.

"I want to go home, Hotch!" Reid called back, voice tight and strangled.

"Reid, they'll break the door down…" Reid pictured that, the hands, the bodies surging against him. Holding him down. He clicked the door open, saw Garcia shut her eyes in relief. The security guard was blocking the exit, there was a doctor with a syringe. Reid glanced at it like most people would stare at a poisonous snake. Reid backed away from them, back towards the sink.

"Please… just leave me alone. I'm fine. Please. I haven't done anything wrong." He was panting, eyes wide.

"Reid, there are two ways you can do this," Hotch said tightly, eyes hard and determined.

"Hotch, please… I'll be fine. I just want to go for a walk. I need to get some air."

The security guard moved forward, but Hotch was faster. He stepped in, blocking the guard, took Reid by the arm.

"Come on. You're okay. Come on."

Out of the bathroom. A few doctors looked up. Hotch's grip was steel on his arm. His breathing was coming fast and ragged now, exhausted. He could feel the doctor behind him, the guard… like he was a criminal. A prisoner. Hotch's grip was tight, angry on his arm. Reid broke then, face crumpling. He gasped and his face changed, and he was sobbing then, crying. He hated himself for it, for showing weakness but at that moment it was impossible to stop.

Hotchner steered him back into his room, back to bed. Reid gasped sobs, fell into bed. It didn't matter, anyway. He'd get out tomorrow, be alone tomorrow. Reid clung to this thought, his shame and self hatred throbbing in time with his pulse. He'd get away and be alone and it would be fine. He'd lock himself in his house and ignore their phone calls and there wouldn't be anything they could do because he'd be discharged, then, and on leave, and they'd just have to deal with it.

A doctor came in, handed him a little paper cup with pills inside, a little cup of water. Reid stared at it, knew he didn't have a choice. Ativan. 2 mgs. He dry swallowed the pills, drank the water. Lay down on his bed. Face turned to Hotch. He didn't want to look at him, see him.

"Go away Hotch."

"Reid, you must have known how that would end…"

"Please leave, Hotchner." Aaron Hotchner didn't have to be told twice. Reid heard the door click shut. He closed his eyes, balled one hand into a fist. Bit it. Bit until the pain throbbed louder than the shame and the misery, till the drugs started to work, dulling everything, making everything matter less.

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That's all I have for right now, guys. Please rate and review, and let me know if you want this to continue. :Like I said, it's my first fic.:)


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: M

Summary: Reid is taken hostage by an UNSUB and released an hour later. But will he ever be the same?

Warning: This fic contains NON CON (not graphic)- don't read if this will disturb you. It also contains language some readers may find inappropriate.

Author's note: my first fan fic piece ever, please be gentle. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Second chapter now up. I have to say that yes, I know the beginning scene isn't realistic and that he wouldn't have been taken that easily. That's what you get for writing when buzzed. ;p

Update: feb 15th, 2009- Corrected the formatting problems. I think. I hope.

He slept on and off, unable to get comfortable, either physically or mentally. The lights in his room dimmed but never went completely off. Finally he slipped into sleep and dreamt he was tied to a pole like a rotisserie chicken, dreamt that his father was getting ready to cook and eat him. He woke up with a gasp, both surprised and somewhat relieved that it was morning. 6:30. He would be out in a few hours.

Time clicked by slowly. He got out of bed, shuffled around the empty room, scanned half a dozen magazines before throwing the last one down disgustedly. Breakfast came- lukewarm eggs, bacon, coffee, a bagel. He ate without tasting the food, annoyed at having to wear a hospital gown, annoyed at everything. He'd had surgery- nothing major. There had been a deep tear, so they must have scoped that, sewn it up. The implications of the injuries made him feel a little hyper if he considered it for too long. Hotch, as the senior agent, would probably have read the medical file, would know what such and such meant. Hotch. God. He could remember the look on Hotch's face, Gideon's face, after the truth had come out about Morgan. Morgan, so masculine and strong, molested as a boy. Neither one had been cloying or overly protective, not on the surface- both senior agents kept a tight upper lip, and yet, they were distressed. Worried. Faces hard, eyes deeply sympathetic. How long would they- everyone on the damn team- cast pitying doe eyes on him? Too long, that's how long. After Hinkle, after the abduction, they had walked on eggshells. Shot well meaning looks to each other. And that had *only* been torture and beatings. *Only*, heh, the idea would have struck him as funny if someone else was trying to rationalize torture in such bland terms. Even for BAU agents, anything sexual and criminal carried a greater weight. A greater burden. Fuck.

The door opened and there was Garcia looking tired and artificially chipper.

"Hey great one!" She said. Reid tried to remember the previous night, but it was a blur of bodies, shouting, the feeling of being chased. Impressions more than a series of distinct, linear memories. Not a good sign. Reid nodded towards her, unsure of how to act. How were you supposed to act in a situation like this, if you were embarrassed and scared and in physical pain? Walking was painful, small little needling bursts of pain, usually bearable, sometimes more intense.

"Where is Hotch?" Reid asked, immediately wishing he hadn't. What was Hotch now, his babysitter? Protector? What?

"At home. Jack has a fever."

"Oh. That's unfortunate." Yeah, Reid, don't be awkward or anything. Is this how it would be now, carefully selected words, the easy rapport between them gone? Him, afraid of appearing weak or injured, and them, trying to make him feel normal but unsure about how, awkward and uncomfortable? Is this how it would be?

"They speak to you yet?" Garcia asked.

"Who?"

"Doctors. You can leave today, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

The door clicked open and there was a baby doc in a white lab coat, the necessary stethoscope around his neck, a clipboard.

"Hello, Mr. Reid. How are we feeling this morning?"

"Uh, fine. Thank you."

"Good to hear it. Looked over your chart- the surgery was minor, really. We put a few stitches in, but used dissolvable thread. You don't have to do anything about them."

Reid nodded silently, glanced towards Garcia, who had apparently decided the window held a spectacularly beautiful view of the parking lot.

"I'm writing you a script for antibiotics- both for the injuries, and also a few medications in case of possible STDs. I also prescribed ativan for any anxiety, not much. It will probably be useful at bedtime, to help you fall asleep."

"I'll be able to sleep." Reid said tightly.

The doctor nodded, a "yeah, sure you will, whatever you say big guy" kinda-nod.

"I also have some information for you on sexual assault and what you can expect from yourself in terms of reactions-"

"I'm a criminologist, that won't be necessary."

"There is a list on numbers for support groups and counselors in this area. I would invite you to give them a call, although I understand from agent Hotchner that your team has access to counselors through the bureau?"

"Uh, yeah. That's true." Hotchner mentioned the FBI shrinks? Why? Because, obviously, he expected Reid to go. Great. This was getting better and better.

"I'm going to give you my card in case you have any questions about medication or anything else. Any excessive pain, swelling or bleeding that continues beyond…"

"Thank you, it's okay." Reid raised his hand, nodding fervently. He got it.

"Okay." The Doctor glanced at Garcia. "This must be your ride."

"Excuse me?"

"You were under anesthesia yesterday, so the hospital requires someone drive you home and…"

"Yes, I'm driving Dr. Reid home." Garcia cut in. The doctor nodded, handed Reid the prescription. Looked Reid up and down.

"We have some extra clothes if you wish-"

"It's okay, I brought some." Garcia responded, lifting a backpack. The young man nodded, scribbled something on the clipboard.

"Alright then. I'll have someone bring in your shoes."

"What about my clothes?" Reid asked. He could remember them, knew they would be ruined, spotted with blood, other fluids. He still needed them. Would burn them later in the fireplace.

"Um, one of your people already collected them. As evidence?"

Reid wanted to swear, just nodded. What evidence? Why bother? Underwood was dead, it was over. What fucking evidence? Who took them- Hotch? Reid's mind whirled, he suddenly wanted to punch something. Hotch maybe… Damn it! He'd had his watch on too, a fancy, waterproof Casio his mother had got him a few birthdays ago. Did Hotch have the watch, his sweater vest, all of it? Did it matter.

"My watch?" Reid could barely get the words out. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. Humiliation? Anger? What?

He wanted his clothes. His watch. *His* Things. What fucking right did they have…?!

(They're FBI agents and your friends, Reid. You know they had to)

(Shut up brain.)

Blood, and fluids. Excrement maybe. Maybe. Oh God. And he didn't want them looking at them, prying them over with gloved fingers. Nothing to be done about it now.

"Okay, well, good luck, Mr. Reid." The doctor turned and left, apparently a little unnerved by Reid's demeanor. The door clicked shut.

"You brought clothes?" Reid said, trying to keep his voice light. Garcia nodded.

"As sexy as that hospital gown is…" Garcia stopped speaking, looked down. Reid's heart was hammering.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that."

"It's okay, Garcia. Clothes?"

"Yeah, sure. Here." She thrust the backpack at him like a peace offering. "I'll be outside."

Reid nodded, walked over to the bed. Laid out the clothes. Boxers, socks, sweat pants, a t-shirt. Must've come from Morgan's personal collection, definitely wasn't his stuff and he doubted Garcia owned this stuff. _Okay_. He dressed quickly, glanced around. The clothes were baggy on him, too big, definitely Morgan's, but it was okay. He'd change when he got home. Garcia came back in with his shoes, threw them over to Reid. He slipped his feet into them without bothering to undo the laces. His shoes looked funny matched with Morgan's baggy sweats and Quantico T-shirt.

"Wanna go?"

Reid nodded tightly, fought down the urge to snap at Garcia with sarcasm. Of course he wanted to go. Fuck.

Garcia stopped the car outside the pharmacy, got out. Reid slid out, the prescription balled in his hand. His wallet and ID had been in the backpack, but no watch. It was almost 10 on a weekday and the place was thankfully nearly empty. Reid went to the pharmacy counter, avoided the pharmacist's curious eyes, recited his medical insurance number. The pharmacist nodded and took the crumpled paper, moved around slowly, whistling The Simpsons theme.

"It'll be about 10 minutes, sir." He said after a few minutes and Reid nodded, ambled off.

Garcia had a little basket with fruit juice in it, a couple tins of soup, crackers.

"Knowing you, your place is out of food." She smiled.

"It's okay. I'll order in." Garcia was irritating him. He knew she was just trying to help, he *knew* that, but every time he heard a can fall into the basket he felt a surge of resentment. Anger.

"_You_ can order in, I'll have soup." Garcia was staying. Of course. Reid took a deep breath, let it out slowly. The urge to punch something had returned.

"It's _okay_. I can stay _on my own_, Garcia." His voice was tight, full of emotion. Nearing exhaustion. Garcia didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't let it sway her answer.

"Oh, I don't think so. Morgan rented one of the Bourne movies and is waiting for us." She grinned, winked at Reid. When Reid refused to do anything but stare back blankly, the smile faded a bit.

"I know… I know how hard this is right now, Spencer." Her voice was almost inaudible, lost over the sound of Reid's blood whipping through his head and an irritating, high pitched ringing. He felt ready to collapse.

"Morgan's at my house?"

"Yeah. He told me to tell you that you have an excellent selection of Wittgenstein." Garcia's voice was light but her eyes were hard, sharp, watching Reid. Filing away his behavior for later consideration.

Reid sighed. He wanted to be alone. Maybe open a bottle of wine, listen to some music. Take a long, long hot bath. He did *not* want to be babysat.

"Aren't you guys needed at work?"

Garcia pretended not to hear him, held up a magazine.

"What do you know. O.J. wrote another book." She dumped the magazine in the basket, grinning devilishly. Reid blinked heavily, walked back to the pharmacist's counter. The man behind the counter nodded when he saw Reid, came over with a plastic basket filled with orange bottles, a jar of cream.

"This is the ativan, sublingual tablets. These are 2 milligrams each, so one is probably all you need. This cream is for…. will help with swelling, and it has an antibiotic…." The Pharmacist now seemed as uncomfortable as Reid. Maybe more so.

"Um, thank you. Got it." Reid nodded. Was itching to get out of there.

"Okay. I assume you've been instructed about the other medications?"

Reid nodded quickly, glanced backwards. Garcia was at the checkout, paying. The pharmacist slid the pills and cream into a brown paper bag, handed the drugs to Reid. Reid smiled politely, walked back to Garcia. His… insides hurt. Twinged. Little bursts of moderate pain.

Garcia collected the bags, didn't seem to notice. Good. One less thing to worry about.

____________

"Hi Sugar!" Garcia said when she let herself into Reid's apartment and laid eyes on Morgan. He grinned and nodded.

"Hi Baby doll. Reid!" He stood, dressed in similar sweats and a Quantico t-shirt, an open can of Budweiser in his hand.

"Looks like you made yourself at home." Reid said dryly, glancing around. Morgan nodded, grinning.

"At least you have cable, or I'd be insanely bored by now. You don't get ESPN though."

Reid nodded, pleased Morgan wasn't coddling him. Good. Good.

Garcia wandered into the kitchen, began putting groceries away.

"Hungry?"

Reid shook his head, wandered towards his bedroom. The door was still shut. Good. He pulled jeans from his closet, a shirt, a wool sweater. He felt chilled, cold, and it was awfully *nice* of agents (your friend, Reid, your *friends*!) to come and keep him company, but…

Distantly he heard Garcia laugh, could hear Morgan's deep, rich voice as he responded. Some things never changed. Despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitched a bit.

They watched all three Bourne movies. Morgan sat on the edge of the couch, Garcia nearby in the arm chair, lightly touching Morgan's arm every time the action heated up. Reid watched, dazed, his stomach upset from the antibiotics and the miserable hospital food, his insides aching.

"This is totally unrealistic. Even if they had trained Bourne and he was a potential threat, the amount of training and money they invested in him-" He had discovered that if he interjected some comment or other every so often, Garcia seemed to stop staring at him with those puppy dog eyes, and that was more important than his desire to be quiet. He couldn't stand to see the *pity* in their eyes. It humiliated him, but more than that… angered him.

"Ludlam's the man, Reid. You don't diss Ludlam."

"I'm not *dissing* him Morgan. I'm just saying… look at that! Nobody moves that fast, especially someone with apparent brain damage significant enough…."

"Ninjas move that fast, Sugar. That's how they disappear." Garcia was slightly buzzed from beer, her cheeks flushed a little- probably from more than the beer, Reid thought wryly. Reid had had a couple himself, could feel his anxiety, shame, all the stifling embarrassment lessen a bit. If he didn't move quickly or think about why Garcia and Morgan were sitting in his living room drinking beer in the middle of a work week, he could almost pretend nothing had happened. Almost. Still, the beer was making him too relaxed, and he knew alcohol loosened the tongue. Is that why Morgan had brought it? To get him to talk? Is that why?!

(Relax, Genius. Relax. Maybe he needs to relax. You ever consider it's not all about you?)

(FUCK *you*.)

"Um, I'm going to bed now." Reid said, exhausted, standing up, tipsy from the beer. Garcia looked up, searching his face for… something… he kept it as neutral as possible (give away nothing!). "I'm just really tired."

"Of course you are!" Garcia said earnestly, rising to hug him. Reid nodded, pretended he hadn't seen her edge forward for the hug. "Good night." He said flatly. And then he went to his room. He was asleep almost instantly.


End file.
